Page 11 of If the Duke Dares
“Haven’t seen it,” he said. “Need to be on my way now, though.”
“You can’t leave!” She couldn’t be this far from her destination and without her things!
He gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m afraid I must. And you said your valise isn’t on the coach, so there’s no point in staying. Best of luck to you.”
Persephone had to back away quickly as the coach started forward. She gaped as it moved away from her. But the man was right—what difference did it make since her valise wasn’t on the coach? And staying on the coach made no sense as she would only continue in the wrong direction.
How had she made such a horrid mistake? And what had happened to her valise? She’d seen it on the coach—the wrong coach, apparently—before they’d departed Gloucester. Someone had to have stolen it. Someone who’d been in or on the coach. Turning in a circle, Persephone looked about for anyone familiar, but she didn’t recognize anyone.
What was she going to do without her belongings? Thank goodness her money was sewn into her undergarments. But it was already a fast-dwindling sum, and now she would have even less as she booked passage to Bristol. Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t even have an extra handkerchief.
She would not capitulate to misfortune. Things could be far worse. She could be betrothed to that jackanapes Wellesbourne.
Straightening her spine and lifting her chin, she moved forward. She would book passage on a coach, hopefully leaving today and if not, she would find an inn that was both affordable and acceptable. Nothing too fancy and nothing too…rough.
Things would improve. They had to.
It was still late morning when Acton arrived home at Loxley Court after departing Gloucester. The butler informed him that their guests had arrived the day before. Knowing he would be expected to have an audience with them, he washed away the dust of the road and met his mother in the drawing room.
Even after spending time with her over the past year, she seemed like a stranger to him. Her dark red hair had only a few strands of white even though she would be fifty the year after next. She was thin with a warm, welcoming smile and a collection of freckles that were somehow endearing. They made her…approachable. She wasn’t at all what he’d expected. His father had rarely spoken of her, but what he had said made it sound as if she were cold and unfeeling. On the contrary, she went out of her way to be attentive to Acton and tell him—almost daily—that she was glad to be with him.
He found it awkward. And he could hear his father saying it was the excess of emotion that bothered him.
“Wellesbourne, how do you look so handsome after riding all the way from Gloucester?” she asked with a light laugh.
“I’m always this handsome, Mother,” he said, smiling. “I understand our guests are here?”
She clasped her hands before her. “Yes, but not everyone we expected. Lord and Lady Radstock are here; however, Miss Barclay is not. She has taken ill.”
“I rode home for nothing?” Acton could have stayed at his friend’s house in Wales. They’d been having a brilliant time making plans for the next Parliamentary session. He was an MP, and together, they worked to effect change in their respective branches.
“Lord and Lady Radstock believe she will recover quickly. They didn’t want to forgo the appointment with you, so they’ve come to meet you.”
What a waste of time. Acton had agreed to meet a potential bride, not her parents. “I hope you told them they needn’t have bothered.”
The dowager moved toward him, her expression concerned. “Come now, you can be pleasant and still meet them, can’t you?”
Acton gritted his teeth. “I’m always pleasant. You would know that if you knew me well, which you do not.” He immediately regretted his words, especially when he noted the flash of hurt in her gaze.
“I realize I can’t replace the years I wasn’t with you,” she said softly. “But I try every day to be the mother I wasn’t.”
“I know, and I appreciate that.” He’d allowed her to move into the dowager house because he’d been delighted—surprised but delighted—to learn she wanted to be his mother. Still, he couldn’t forget the fact that she’d abandoned him at a very young age. He’d barely known he had a mother.
Her gaze moved beyond Acton, and he realized they were no longer alone. He turned to see the Baron and Baroness Radstock standing at the doorway. She was attractive, with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. His dark hair was thinning, yet he sported impressive sideburns. What was most notable about them was their clothing. They were dressed in the height of fashion, and their garments were made of rich materials. London Society would welcome them on appearance alone. However, he thought his mother had mentioned that Miss Barclay’s dowry was rather small. The baron and baroness didn’t look as if their daughter would have a limited settlement.
And here they were without her. Which was just as well. Acton was feeling somewhat moody since the widow had doused him with Madeira. What he’d thought had been a wonderful encounter had gone completely and horribly wrong.
His discontent wasn’t entirely because of her actions. He was questioning himself as he’d completely misread the situation. He’d thought she was flirting, that she reciprocated his interest. And he’d been utterly mistaken.
The dowager pivoted so that she could see both their guests and Acton. “Lord and Lady Radstock, allow me to present my son, His Grace, the Duke of Wellesbourne.”
The baron and baroness moved into the drawing room. He executed a bow while she dipped into an impressive curtsey. Acton would wager they’d been presented at court.
But of course they had. The man was a baron.
Thoughts of wagering brought the widow to mind. And not his friends with whom he wagered. How odd.
“It is our great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Duke,” the baroness said smoothly. Given that she spoke first and the baron was eyeing her expectantly, Acton deduced that she exerted a great deal of influence in the marriage.
